


Wicked Wind Will Blow

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Gore, Incest, Knifeplay, M/M, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about legends... they require survivors. And when someone who doesn't know better tries to get between Dean and his Sammy boy, well, one can't help making a bit of a mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Wind Will Blow

From behind the dimly-lit and terrifyingly quiet bar, an elderly man stifles his ragged breaths in the crook of his arm and tries not to slip in the coppery lake pooling at his feet and dripping from the counter.

"You owe me a blow job, baby boy, looks like I tally up more than your slow ass." The shorter man nonchalantly kicks over a bar stool over into the taller man's knees. The tall man swivels around, long wet hair sticking to his face, and jumps over a small stack of patrons lying clumped on the ground to get to the shorter man's throat, which he clamps a hand over uses to steer him backwards until he collides with the edge a pool table. There's about 3 and a half bodies haphazardly tossed over it, which the taller man pushes onto the floor with the butt of his rifle. He then slams the shorter man down, pinning his bowed legs with his hips, and the man (Dean, the guy behind the bar remembers the long-haired man calling it out) groans raggedly. "Sam," he says, still choked up from the taller man's (Sam's) vice grip. "You know how hot you are all wet with blood like that? Makes me downright hysterical, Sammy." He smiles up at the man called Sam and licks some of the blood painted on his own lips. Sam doesn't like that, or he does, because he growls and lunges forward and presses an open mouth over the man called Dean. He bites at Dean's lower lip, tugging gently, and then smears some of the blood on his own face over Dean's cheeks in a nuzzle that's disturbingly domestic.

"Gonna make you scream," Sam purrs, his hands still pinning Dean by the throat. "Gonna make you beg like a fucking girl, beg for my cock in your ass." Dean squirms beneath Sam's body, gets his legs wrapped around Sam's back and pulls him flat against his chest. Dean reaches into Sam's back pocket and pulls out a switchblade. He flicks it open with a snap and drags it up along one of Sam's arms, leaving a path of opened skin, all the way around to the soft part of Sam's neck. The man behind the bar thinks Dean's going to gut him and he wonders if he could maybe bargain with the spiky-haired guy once he's alone in this… this date they seem to be having. But Dean doesn't gut Sam, just presses the tip of the knife into the give of Sam's neck and Sam curls his head back and lets him. Blood trickles out of the wound and down the knife, onto Dean's knuckles and dripping onto his cheek. Dean puts down the knife and Sam takes it and skewers it down into someone's disembodied leg on the table next to them. Dean sniggers and lunges up to suck greedily at the small river in Sam's throat. Sam moans and ruts up into Dean jerkily. The men's legs are intertwined as they lay sprawled over the pool table, no longer green from all the blood. "Such a bad Sammy," Dean whimpers into the crook of Sam's neck. "Always getting bored, the things I do to keep you entertained." Sam grabs a fistful of Dean's hair and yanks hard, eliciting another groan from Dean. He then bites down on Dean's chin, fumbling for the knife still stuck in the leg (it used to belong to the woman who came in just before the guns started firing - the man behind the bar remembers because her pink heels clacked together as she told him she was buying a celebratory beer for her first big modeling gig) and Sam wiggles it out of the bone it was wedged in. He wipes it on his shirt, never breaking contact with his lips from Dean's neck, and lines the knife up alongside where he's biting at Dean's throat and jaw. With a slow but firm drag, Sam slices down through Dean's button-up shirt (who knew what color it used to be, it is a solid and deep burgundy all the way through now) and down the crotch of Dean's jeans, cutting the fabric away to reveal Dean's chest and stomach, shiny and red and trembling. Abruptly, Sam breaks his hold on Dean's hair and slides off the end of the pool table, where he then grabs the underside of Dean's knees and hauls him backwards along the table until his groin is flush against Sam's own again.

"You still want that blowjob I owe you you'd better stay the fuck down and keep looking pretty just like that," Sam orders, pointing the knife at Dean's exposed abdomen. Dean just lifts his head up, grins at Sam, and wraps his legs around Sam's ass. "Fuckin' do it then, Sasquatch." He growls, languidly smearing some of the blood around his torso. This is apparently the last straw for Sam, because without another beat he yanks Dean's jeans and boxers down and manhandles Dean's legs over his shoulders. He gets a hand between Dean's legs and does something that wipes the casual smirk right off Dean's face, forcing a choked gasp out of him. "FUCK! Sammy!" he calls out, and then Sam does it again and Dean doesn't say anything, just jerks visibly. The man behind the bar wants to leave, but he's stuck watching this game the two men are playing all slicked up in blood with an audience of unseeing eyes of people torn to shreds and julienned and plugged full of bullets and one solitary man, too old and too paralyzed with fear to attempt escape.

Sam's got his mouth sucking on Dean's hipbones now, and he's taking his time sucking lovingly through the blood and petting Dean's cock in a light, teasing touch. Dean's snagging his hands in Sam's hair (it was brown before it became soaked in blood splatter, the man remembers because Sam came up and asked for a Long Island and ran his hands through it, god it was so soft and pretty like a shampoo commercial) and Sam's moaning into the tug of Dean fisting in his soaked hair like it's all he wanted in the world. God there was so much blood.

Then Sam trails his mouth down to where Dean's trying to direct him, calling out a solid string of curses and "Sammy"s and "Baby boy"s and as Sam licks a broad stripe up Dean's cock, Dean runs out of words and just chokes out a keening whine, his hands shaking still wrapped up in Sam's hair.

"God, fuck me Sammy, want to feel your cock in me," is the next thing Dean says, and Sam murmurs with Dean's cock filling up his mouth. "Use your words, baby brother," Dean says breathily (they're brothers oh Jesus they're _/brothers/_!) and Sam stops nursing on Dean's cock long enough to say, "Let me drive us to the next one and I will." to which Dean replies, "Shit fine whatever you want just please /fuck me/ Sam."

Sam smirks and nibbles at Dean's inner thigh, licking all the way up to where his pants are still stuck around his ankles before pulling them off and gnawing one last time at Dean's calf. Sam then spits in his hand and caresses it between Dean's legs. God in Heaven the man wants to look away, but he can't, he fucking /can't/ stop watching in horror as these two shiny sticky red men (brothers) are getting ready to fuck each other senseless with dismembered bodies scattered around their feet like rose petals and blood drying over cuts from where they sliced into one another before pulling out the guns earlier.

And it all started because some poor girl decided to push her hands a little too far up Sam's knee and smile at him a little too sweetly.

Dean's a writhing mess on the table, and Sam's taking his time opening his brother up beneath him. Gently twisting his fingers inside Dean's ass, Sam is whispering unintelligible chatter more to himself than to Dean, and Dean's cussing more then he's breathing and then he says, "Sam, fuck just come on already!" and then Sam's scrabbling at his own jeans and stepping out of them and fumbling at a small bottle he had in the pocket of his shirt, all while having his fingers in his brother's ass, and then he pulls them out and slicks some of the liquid from the bottle onto his cock and without warning slams himself into Dean. Dean yelps and arches his back and pushes into Sam, and Sam grabs both Dean's wrists in his broad hands and pins them over Dean's head. He bites at Dean's calf again, still swung over Sam's shoulders, fucking into him with a rhythm that suggested they'd been doing this for a long time. The man has drawn blood by now, he can taste it; his teeth still clamped over his arm to stop the screams that want to climb out and he's looking for a way out but the door is between him and the men fucking into each other on a blood-drenched pool table in a bar full of corpses. And the man would rather stay folded under the bar than interrupt the ritual that's going on in the middle of the place.

Dean's keening a string of "fuckfuckfuckfuck"s and Sam is just wordlessly moaning out in ragged breaths, leaning over to flatten himself on top of Dean as he fucks him and when they're kissing and breathing in each others' words and moans and then Sam's rhythm becomes jerky and he's got his hand squeezing Dean's cock and then just as Sam's about to come and Dean's already coming, Sam whips out a gun from where it rested in the corner hole of the pool table and in one fluid motion, flips the safety off and shoots the man behind the bar right in the front of his skull where he was still crouched under the bar.

Then Sam's coming and he groans into Dean's mouth and they stay velcro-ed together as they breathe through their orgasms, never letting themselves apart.

After awhile, they hear sirens and they see flashing lights and so Sam picks Dean up, still wrapped around Sam with Sam's cock in his ass, pulls him into a violent open-mouthed kiss, then Sam pulls out of Dean and lowers him to his feet where they both pull on their blood-soaked jeans and collect their guns and knives from the various bodies that held them. They walk outside, shirtless, sticky slick with drying blood and come, and holding hands. With a nod to one another, Dean and Sam both take a gun in each of their hands and start shooting into the wailing police cars as they careen around the corner towards the bar. 4 guns, 2 brothers, 1 soul. One of the cop cars flips over, crushing two more beneath it, and it's enough of a distraction for the brothers to slip into a '67 Chevy Impala and tear out into the night.

"You think the guy liked our little show?" Dean smirks at Sam from the driver's seat and grips Sam's thigh with one hand. Sam just snickers and lifts Dean's hand up to his lips, sucking on two of Dean's fingers with a whine Dean could feel all the way up his wrist.

"Yeah, yeah, I know baby boy," Dean says through a soft moan. "Where you wanna go next?"


End file.
